


Untimeliness; bitter morsels of an ugly world

by maridoll



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Body Horror, Hauntings, Loss of Limbs, Sexual Harassment, also p dark fic, candela is an oak in this one, doesn't explicitly cover anything but a lot of stuff is implied, everything is implied, heavy blood loss, lesson here is don't mess with curses they are a bad business to deal in, so heavy stuff guys, so warnings for ppl who can't take stuff, supernatural horror, the traditional kiddy history rhyme depicted in the pkmn verse, think london bridge here, violent attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2016-09-19
Packaged: 2018-08-15 22:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8075104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maridoll/pseuds/maridoll
Summary: [title and subsequent subtitle, this is a standalone, just address as title]
As three kids in Pallet sing the notorious Kanto rhythm song "Nine Tails, Eight Tails" the story depicts the rhyme on various unfortunate protagonists, telling the tale of the curses that befall those who touch a Ninetales' tails. Meant to show the darker side of the pokemon world, the dangers that befall those who set out on journeys, and the pain of memories after they are finished. 
Bittersweet ending, tragic middle; if that doesn't interest you, the first two sections are filled with snarky Oaks, more lighthearted of a start.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I probably won't say specific names except in the first couple, so if you can't pick up who's who based on hints, they all go in order by generation ! alternating fem and male, two rivals used. the folktake rhyme used -with a change to order once- was made by indepthpokemonheadcanons on tumblr, with a link to the post here - indepthpokemonheadcanons.tumblr.com/post/149422007796

A wild breath of fire. A lone shout. A vivid and horrendous end.

This is how it begins.

-

Candela was visiting. Her grandfather, Samson, had decided to pay another relative out here in Kanto a visit. He insisted she come. Or, well, she insisted he take her. Even though she wasn't five anymore and could travel on her own. This is where is all began, here in Pallet, with legends and stories about the trio of birds that guarded over the land. This is what sparked her journey, and so it was natural she'd want to come back.

She didn't expect the company, though, but she suppose it should have been highly expected.

She cocked a brow at the kid before her. 

"Who are you," the kid called, despite being in front of her, maybe these heels made her appear too tall. She got a good look at him, at his chestnut eyes and rounded cheeks, at the spiky hair signature to the Oak family, something she had worked hard to tame over the years, and gave him a smile that showed her shining teeth.

"Candela," she told him. "Candela Oak. And who are you, pipsqueak?" She added, the tease sounding in her voice.

Immediately the boy puffed out his chest. "Blue Oak," he shouted. "And I'm not a pipsqueak, I'm nine! I can climb onto the roof now, a pipsqueak can't do that!"

She chuckled. "Perhaps you're right."

He still looked annoyed. "Well? How old are you?"

"I'm twenty-two."

Before Blue could give her a reply, another voice sounded, repeating the number in an annoying lilt of a sing-song voice, shaping to the tune of a pop song that'd been drilled into her head earlier that year. Blue turned his head in amazement, surprised to see another bigger person.

Candela rolled her eyes before looking back. "Spark. Hey. How'd the reunion in Vermillion go?"

The blonde lifted his shoulders as he moved towards them, slumping them down and putting on a nonchalant expression. "Good. Dad's happy I'm still useful. The gym's doing great. So the usual."

Blue began sputtering. "W-W-Who . .?!?"

"Oh." Candela faced him once more, bending down slightly to meet Blue's eyes. "This is Spark, a friend of mine. His dad's the Vermillion gym leader."

Blue's eyes were positively shining. "My goal is to get all the badges," he declared loudly. "Which means I'll defeat your dad someday!" He quickly pointed to Spark, a grin suspiciously too cocky for a nine-year-old plastered onto his chubby face. 

Spark nodded to him. "Glad to hear it. You do that." Then he proceeded to lower himself to the ground and lie flat with his arms outstretched. "Aaah the sky is still so pretty. I missed these fluffy clouds. You remember this, Candela?"

She smiled once more, moving to sit herself. "I do." Her gaze moved over to Blue. "Enjoy home while you can, kiddo. It's good to be able to relax, to have no worries, no cares in the world."

Blue shrugged, walking towards Spark and toeing with the heel of his elder's shoe. "I'm an Oak, though. You said you were too, right? We can't relax, not if we have legends to live up to. We have to try and be the best we can be."

Candela felt her smile slipping. "Yes, I suppose that's true," she murmured. Then, louder, "But, Blue, just enjoy what you have now. And if you ever need anything, you can come get me or Spark, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay. Thank you."

Beside him, Spark closed his eyes and let out a sigh. He understood what she meant.

There were much, much worse things to fear out there than exceedingly high expectations.

-

"I'm Candela, but you can call me Canda!"

"Hi, I'm Spark!"

"Spark, huh? I'll call you Sparky then!"

"What? Aww that's so not a cool name!"

Blanche peeked out from the bushes lining the laboratory, watching as the blonde puffed out his cheeks in distress and the brunette laugh at him. She had been told to introduce herself, but now she felt nervous, the other two seeming a bit too much for her. She didn't feel fate wanted her to take that path.

Just then, fate sent out a gust of wind that made her spindly legs tremble, causing the bush to shake. As the other two turned, confused, to the sound, Blanche grew so surprised she let out a squeak and fell, actually  _fell_ , from the bushes. Candela laughed. Spark went to help her up.

"You must be Blanche! The professor told me about you," he said to her.

Blanche nodded, letting herself be led over to the clearing by the lab. Here, the sky was dotted with nice white clouds, and the sun was plenty warm on her skin. 

Candela held her hand out and Blanche timidly shook it. After, Spark started jumping around.

"Oh! Oh! I have an idea!" He smiled great big at them. "Let's play nine tails eight tails!"

Blanche blinked, surprised to find she knew what the song was. "Okay."

Candela nodded. "Yeah alright! We'll do the Kanto version, okay?"

Once they all agreed and got into position, Spark led with the claps, letting them all fall into rhythm before singing the first voice.

"  _Mama, mama, I felt the first tail,_

_As bright as a penny and as soft as a veil._

_I think I did wrong, but I do not know why,_

_Because there’s night in my eyes and not a star in the sky._ " 

-

Minimally flashing.

_The brightness of it._

A voice, in the back of her mind.

_So golden and lovely._

The voice got louder. A shout from behind.

_Silky to the touch._

A hiccup from her herself. A slight pressure.

_So soft you never wanted to depart._

Slowly, surely, eyes going blurry.

_Then it hits you._

She crumpled to her knees, throat letting out muffled sobs. A hand went up to her mouth, catching the shot of blood that wormed its way out, that spattered down the front of her blue shirt. Her breathing was uneven. The voice was getting louder and more muffled, muted. She didn't notice the footsteps approaching, only the muddy shoes to her side, the figure knelt as she felt herself tipping, wobbling, spilling into their arms.

Her head felt heavy. She felt dizzy.

The voice was telling her to hold on. She'd been . . injured. Injury. Her hand fell away from her mouth, to the pressure on her head. Near the back there was a knot. She pulled away to find her hand coated with blood. Another muffled sob of tears, a choked back wail of despair. A larger hand covered her own, gripping it protectively.

She felt her eyes drooping. 

When she woke her first thoughts were that it was probably very late.

Her next breath was very uneven and very broken. There were voices. They were foggy, everything feeling distorted, like she was underwater. One was closer, called out her name, and she could comprehend just a bit.

She moved her head over and croaked out a response.

"Are we still outside? No, there aren't any stars. Tur . . . Turn on the lights, kay?" She felt it cracking, becoming more raspy. "Want to . . see . . . you."

The other choked back their tears, letting them instead stream silently down their face. "They lights are on. It's morning," they told her. "You . . have blunt force trauma. Your head. It aff-" The voice broke off to once again spill into a soft cry. "It affected most everything. Your eyes though. They're . . gone."

She felt her world slipping.

"You're blind now."

Slipping slipping falling falling into the pit of despair, of misery, of helplessness she was drowning she was suffocating-

A high-pitched beeping sounded in the ears of everyone present.

"You have to calm down-"

"Stand back, she's going into . ."

She couldn't hear anymore. She couldn't see. She couldn't see. She would never be able to see again. The air struggled to escape from her lungs.

Darkness.

-

"Blanche, do you know the Kanto version?"

"Sorta, not really."

"Okay. Well, the next one is the same, except we don't use second."

"I think I can do that."

They continued.

" _Mama, mama, I felt the next tail,_

_As light as a cloud and as sleek as a scale._

_I think I did wrong, but I do not know how,_

_Because there’s blood on my tongue and sweat on my brow._ "

-

A cough escaped him, great big and heavy, dotting the air with crimson. 

He lie in the forest, alone. Marshtomp had gone off to seek help. Everything was eerily quiet.

His veins were on fire. Pin pricks covered his every being. He convulsed once, twice, a third time in silence. No rustling of leaves could be found.

He must've been there for hours. Another cough brought forth a slight foam. It was getting more and more tiring to stay awake.

Beside him was a knapsack of berries, a couple heavily bitten through, the rest untouched. One might've been the cure, perhaps, but with what the couple had already damaged, it was a risk to try any more.

His fist tightened around a white piece of cloth, his floppy hat, and the heat of the region bared its ugly fangs.

Hot and in unbearable pain. Not a good combination.

Scavengers had already come by. It was a meet-ends world, after all. Others had to survive. But now the area was silent, the distinct ping of death too much for any living creature to bare.

His bag was gone. His legs battered and bruised, to prevent chasing. They ached each time he wriggled, body acting on its own to control the pain. 

_Light enough he could barely feel it._

_Smooth enough his fingers could barely stay on it._

Another seizure, another bout of convulsing, then he lay, barely able to pant, of the floor of earth. Was it a trick of the eyes, or were leaves falling from the surrounding trees? Maybe it was death welcoming him. 

Little did he know the berry he ate didn't kill. The curse didn't allow that. Just endless suffering from a mistake due made.

He lay, thinking about his life, about his mistakes.

Failure.

-

" _Mama, mama, I felt the third tail,_

_As long as a ribbon and smooth as a gale._

_I think I did wrong, or so I can guess,_

_Because there’s hands on my back that keep pulling my dress._ "

-

She was a hero.

A hero with a good image, but she didn't care for how others saw her.

Except for instances like this.

She wasn't a doll, a figurine to just sit there and look pretty all the time. She got rough, she got tough, she saved the region.

But she couldn't save herself.

_Just long enough to satisfy her fingers._

_And softer that anything she'd ever felt before, that she'd ever feel._

Now, as her white scarf was used to strangle her, to restrain her in the bustling city, where no one noticed a lone figure being pulled into a dusky alleyway, she thought maybe she should have better payed attention to define her image.

She hissed as much as she could manage, the fabric quickly choking her, and sharply kicked her feet out. They were met with something hard enough that she attempted to shout. As soon as her throat slimmed to enable it, the scarf wrapped tighter, forcing her head back, nearly gagging on the next exhale, immediately blacking out for a moment.

Suddenly, she was dropped like a ragdoll, landing harshly on the ground. Then she was grabbed again, restrained further, pinned to the wall. Wandering hands slipped up the back of her coat; she was unable to utter a sound, on the verge of losing consciousness. Bright light shone in her suddenly opened eyes, an object coming close to her lips. Thinking on impulse, she snapped out and bit into it. An immediate shout. Then a searing pain down her leg, a chill as her coat was ripped off. 

Then the light went out, and she was dropped once again, and there were voices all around her, telling her to breathe, to stay awake. They were slackening the scarf, pulling her hair just a bit which made her scream in anguish, lifting her kicking and screaming onto a stretcher. her breaths came in shallow and quick. More bright lights. Blurry faces she didn't recognize. The memory of fingerprints wherever her attacker pleased.

She felt sick, and turned her head to the side to prove it. Something was shoved into her wrist, her chest rose rapidly. Over and over, a voice sounded, asking if she was okay. No, she wasn't. 

Despair.

-

" _Mama, mama, I felt the fourth tail,_

_As thick as a bush and so golden and pale._

_I think I did wrong, for all I can tell,_

_Because there’s fire in my chest that no water can quell._ "

-

_Luring him in with its brilliant and safe color._

_Then ensnaring him._

Pretty thing.

He'd always been called that. Years and years and it'd still never pass, not even as he aged into his late teens. Especially not then.

Weird jibes, "hey pretty thing", and then his face would meet with the sand on the city's beaches, grimy fingers getting tangled in his long red locks. And he'd hiss and kick out only to be pushed in further to the soft sand, head half buried, useless, pretty, petty. 

They'd take wads of his hair, cut it off sloppily, squeeze his face too much, bruise his throat, call him pretty and petty and pathetic. Or, was that just himself?

If he was really unfortunate, some would take a prize, usually involving a long hunting knife and a slab of flesh. He'd lost hunks of his arm, torn away in a bloody mass, his mouth getting stuffed with sand when he opened it to scream, sometimes the excess blood running in as well. A crueler fate, at times, would be taking off something extra, a sliver of calf or meat off his hips, and stuffing it into his open mouth then and there. That's when he'd choke, when he'd cry from the horror and disgust, when he'd be left for dead with a piece of himself shoved down his throat.

He grew anemic because of it. The blood loss was always too much. He grew gaunt. But he never died. He'd lie there in agony until the morning hours, when someone found him, when he'd be turned over to medical professionals only to be horribly beaten and abused once more. Pretty and petty and pathetic. He couldn't do anything.

Useless.

-

"  _Mama, mama, I felt the fifth tail,_

_Swirling like wood smoke and shining like hail._

_I think I did wrong, or something akin,_

_Because there’s an ache in my bones and bites on my skin._ "

-

Halfway through . .

Halfway through everything.

She felt herself slipping.

Lost on what was wrong and right. On what was humane or not.

She found herself in a dusty town, the clay buildings unappealing, the red wind whipping around unflattering. And she found herself a secluded spot and lost it.

_It moved like a wisp, in erratic directions, nice and easy._

Halfway and she found herself faced with red.

With bloody claw marks.

With her damaged self, inside and out.

But she couldn't help it. When there was pain, she didn't think. She didn't think about him or his ideals that were working on her brain, that were twisting her thoughts and-

She bit down hard near her knee, shoving down her body's reaction of stress in the form of a blood-curling screech. 

_Like a storm, all perfect and brave and lovely._

She dug through her bag before finally settling for the rubble littering the ground, using it to gouge herself, using it to hit herself, to break and bite and tear and tremble until she lay in a crumpled heap, saliva and dust and puss and rubble and blood all in one gigantic heavy form. She gripped her torn arms, hissing back screams, forcing herself to not think. 

_Then it was a devastating mess._

She used her hat to hide her face. She let her hair fall down around her form and used it to hide her arms. She found long, thick socks and covered herself so that she was just a simple traveler, not a victim of herself, of psychological thoughts and internal warfare, of whether or not she should release her partners for their benefit.

She left the town and found another secluded spot and began again, something new reminding her of him, and his ideologies, and that she was falling apart, and she ripped everything off and cut open her healing scars, her new wounds replaced with even fresher ones, and forced herself to watch, to be aware, to not show the extent of her pain, to finally fall into a dreamless sleep and wake up to all the soreness and bitterness and start the day off with fresh blood and move again.

Halfway she broke. Halfway she absolutely fell apart.

Who knows what would happen when she completed her quest, when she finally confronted these conflicting thoughts.

She was already so broken.

Agony.

-

"  _Mama, mama, I felt the sixth tail,_

_The golden of grain but not nearly so frail._

_I think I did wrong, made some kind of mistake,_

_Because my head’s full of nightmares that don’t leave when I wake._ "

-

_Strong and wonderful._

His hair was so unruly because he couldn't bother to take care of it anymore.

_Weak and horrible._

His eyes were gaunt because he got such terrible sleep.

His voice was scratchy because he hardly used it.

He was so focused on the internal affairs that he didn't notice the real world half the time.

All the struggles he went thought.

All the fierce battles he'd endured.

All he'd done to come out on top, yet the wrongdoers had gone away, and the ringleader haunted his dreams, twisting them to where he woke up screaming, slipping into hypertension, barely able to be calmed by anyone, and then being forced to remember it throughout the day.

Watching as that sickly green hair of the sickly pale face with a single eye still fully intact faced him and mocked him and drowned him and tortured him-

And then he had to wake up and remember it was real, most of it, and that he had survived it,

but this was the cost.

And he had made it and conquered yet couldn't dwell in the success as he succumbed to misery and let the bad guys win,

because what else could he do.

He didn't wear visors anymore. Most days he didn't bother getting dressed, getting changed, wearing the same pajamas for days at a time, locked in his room, eyes bloodshot and brain firing away like lightning trying to both focus on and wipe out those awful nightmares he endured.

Except they weren't mostly nightmares, they were his life replaying in a horrid loop, showing him all the pain to make him suffer, to see he hadn't endured, that he may be strong now but he had no mental power, that figures of the past had such a strong grip on him still.

He remembered frozen caverns and bundled up tight, visions of bright golden eyes gleaming behind closed eyelids. He remembered walls of a city of trains and the people stuck in their old ways, afraid of the same monster born in that frozen wasteland, the same monster he'd never tamed, the same one that could rise and destroy millions.

He wanted it to stop and stop it did not. He would remember for all eternity, he'd never escape.

Panic.

-

"  _Mama, mama, I touched them again,_

_As nice on the skin as a warm summer rain._

_I think I did wrong, it must be the case,_

_Because a girl's in the mirror who’s not got my face._ "

-

It's happened since she was a little girl.

When her dad died and they moved, it only continued.

At night, the lights flickered. She'd bury herself under the sheets, the covers and the thick, fleecy blankets, praying to whatever god was out there.

The shutters would crackle, the splinter, then bang against each other.

Her fan would get this horrid ticking, almost like bones crackling in a fire.

_So tempting to run her fingers through. So soothing to tug just a little on._

_Bam._

Even as she grew older, no matter where she went, the horrors followed.

At dusk, chills would run through her core.

Voices would giggle in one ear, squeal in the other.

She always shook, her eyes always rolled back, her limbs started flailing of their own accord.

She'd look into a pond on the road at noon and find her reflection blank, a lone figure with her pale hair, with her chic attire, without any eyes or a nose or mouth.

And then the mouth would appear, all black with grey teeth, dripping, oozing something dark, putrid. And she would back away, stumble and run.

At early morning, when she prepped her hair.

A young girl is what she saw, eyes holding no hope, always muttering about where her feet were, she was missing her feet.

Or late morning, an older man in the place of her reflection, gazing at her hungrily, eyes following her own as she moved them around the mirror.

Wisps of warmth she could've sworn were fingers pulling on her knees, tugging her towards the end of the surface she curled up upon.

She'd done something very bad as a child, to deserve this. Her memory went blank, but that was the only conclusion.

To how the paint on the walls would peel itself off in whole sections. To how large scrapes would appear at random on her wooden floor. 

The strange pucker marks on her skin.

The light dying from her eyes, mind going blank, memory dipping before fully resurfacing in a terrifying position, where glass shattered and invisible voices screamed and cried for things to stop, for everything to go crazy as she whimpered. 

For her to be called insane. 

As she showed the large bruises on the insides of her calves, for her to be called a self harmer.

She was constantly on alert, constantly being taunted by the invisible presence following her to the ends of the world and then some.

For every breath to feel like her teeth were crackling. Her nails to come completely off at times, leaving her a wailing, bleeding mess, just a trick to the beings always with her.

This was her life.

Cringeworthy.

-

Their voices got higher.

"  _Mama, mama, I can’t count any more,_

_There’s teeth in my heart and a hand in my core._

_The pain’s in my head and my bones have turned weak,_

_So let down my body and leave me to sleep._ "

At they approached the last line, their voices came to a peak, their hands conjoining, their feet bouncing, then breaking apart and falling to the grass, lying completely still.

-

Her body rocked as she was slipped into a wooden crate.

Then she was taken out, delivered to the hands of millions.

Tears were shed over her porcelain face.

_She rocked around, wailing, convulsing, and no one knew what to do._

Their hero had fallen. Their champion was no more.

_Her heart stopped, sputtered, came back in full, then felt punctured and the cycle repeated endlessly._

It came on with no warning, just bouts of pain that left physicians baffled, confused.

And now people cried out, woe to the champion.

People wailed, woe to our hero.

_Soon came the point where she could hardly move, everything aching, trembling with protest. She couldn't lift her hand, yet both were grasped gently. Her eyes began to glaze._

_No one knew what went wrong._

It made people question, what was the reason a young and healthy girl could pass so brutally and so quickly?

_The hands slipped from her own. She felt her eyes beginning to close. Arms wrapped around her torso, pulling her close. She sighed in relief._

_It was time. For why, she was exactly sure. A mistake she had made long ago._

Glistening, feathery, pads quick as sound, light as air. A figure stood overlooking the crowd. It didn't stay long.

_She was ending._

_She was endless._

_Then again, so was the agony of many._

The hero of new departed, flayed by her selfish childhood desires.

The bow she wore was placed on the helm of the coffin.

Departure.

-

A legend of a being bright as day,

with nine tails feathery soft and alluring to the eye;

Of children who play with these tails,

and suffer,

and perish-

May their lives be warnings for those to come.


End file.
